Vindicated
by Quicksilver Eyes
Summary: Draco’s always looked out for number one, but a bushy headed Gryffindor, an escalating war, and old secrets long buried but not forgotten make this harder than one would expect...
1. Prologue: Voldemort's Army

Title: Vindicated

Author: Quicksilver Eyes

Rating: M later on

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Summary: Draco's always looked out for number one, but a bushy headed Gryffindor, an escalating war, and old secrets long buried but not forgotten make this harder than one would expect.

Warning: The Prologue is a bit violent.

Disclaimer: I do not nor have I ever owned the Harry Potter series. It is the property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. so please don't sue. I'm just borrowing

AN: Not HBP compatible although parts will be used. You'll see what I mean…

_Prologue – Voldemort's Army_

October 1981

Lucius Malfoy was perspiring.

The Dark Lord was set to arrive in an hour and he was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. Thus it was with all the speed that Lucius' station would afford him, without seeming to be rushing, that he proceeded out of his study and up the stairs. His destination lay on the third floor and he wished he could just apparate there straight away. However, he had not apparated from one room to another in the same house since he had gotten his apparition license in seventh year (just ten short years ago, mind) and he'd be damned if he'd start up with that foolery again.

Reaching the third floor landing he strode silently down the hall, his footsteps, muffled by the plush carpet, not disturbing the sleeping portraits of his ancestors that lined the walls. He was a tall man with sleek muscles that rippled beneath his expensive tailored black pants which seemed to melt seamlessly into his black robes. His gray eyes glinted with determination and he couldn't seem to get rid of the sly quirk to his lips that gave a slight lift to one corner. His silvery blond hair, that didn't quite reach his shoulders yet, glowed with an ethereal quality in the moonlight streaming through the manor's high French windows. He was young, in the prime of his life and could feel his vitality singing through his veins. He knew that tonight would be a great night for both him and the Malfoy name. Tonight, he would make history. At twenty-seven, Lucius was not an evil man, merely overly opportunistic. He reeled with the intoxicating energy of his excitement and vowed to try to remember every detail of every minute between now and the next few hours. He wished he had a penseive with which to record it.

Finally he drew even with the double doors that stood between him and his fate. Gripping the ornately wrought silver dragon handles, he eased the doors open to drink in the sight before him like a man who'd found an oasis after hours of wandering under the scorching desert sun. It was a room done in soft pastel hues of greens, blues, and yellows. Rattles, blocks, toy trains and stuffed animals were spread all around the room as evidence of a well enjoyed day of play. _The nursery._ Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius spied the rocking horse he couldn't resist buying sitting half in shadow, waiting for its master to be big enough to ride it. And there, bathed in a circle of moonlight stood Narcissa Malfoy, his beautiful wife of six years. Her blond hair, slightly darker and more natural in hue than his, was in a disarrayed tumble cascading down he back. A thin night robe covered her willowy lithe form. It barely kept the late October chill out, but she did not seem to care. Her arms were gently cradled around a little bundle of pale green blankets and she was softly humming a lullaby. It was this seemingly empty swath of blankets that held all of Lucius' attention.

Draco.

They say that good things come to those who wait and he finally understood the sentiment. The pride and joy of his mother, Draco had been years in the making. After the honeymoon had ended and they had settled down to married life, Lucius and Narcissa had turned their attention to extending their family and producing an heir. Much to their chagrin, they tried and they tried to no avail. At first Lucius didn't mind the constant _trying_ one bit, but as time wore on, he wondered why they were still without child. It was a horrible time; when Narcissa was not weeping, she was throwing herself into finding aids for their predicament. She poured over books and parchments, pestered mediwitches and healers, and had even enlisted the help of Potions Master Severus Snape for their cause. It was a miracle in itself that the cranky bastard even agreed, but soon enough Lucius began to think it had instead been a curse for all the foul tasting potions (not without their own ill side effects) he'd been forced to drink. However, one morning after enduring this for two years, Narcissa had risen from the breakfast table and promptly thrown up. When she continued to do this every morning for the next week, they thought a celebration should be had and did just that after the St. Mungo's healer had confirmed their suspicions. Narcissa was indeed with child. They did not know if it had been the spells or potions or Narcissa's sheer single-minded will that had done it (no one was giving Lucius the credit anyway), but they made Severus the unwilling godfather for all of his efforts.

Lucius had no doubt that his son would grow up to make him proud, but had never expected the opportunity to do so would arrive before he was even a year and a half old. Tonight an honor would be bestowed upon his only son; one which would serve the dual purpose of earning Draco great power and favor in the eyes of the Dark Lord and catapulting Lucius high into the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"Cissa," Lucius said while slowly padding his way over to her. "Aren't you cold?"

"He's getting so big, Lucius," she said completely ignoring his concern. "And today he did the cutest little thing when he –"

"Narcissa love, it's late and getting chillier by the minute. Come to bed and you can tell me all about what Draco did today."

Finally dragging her eyes away from Draco, she pinned Lucius with deep turquoise blue eyes the color, Lucius believed, of the bottom of a Caribbean sea. They sparkled with a light that had been missing while they were trying to get pregnant. "Oh I guess you're right, but look at him Lucius! Look at our son," she finished, her voice no louder that a whisper carrying a note of reverence. She gently laid him down in his crib, gave him a soft kiss and took Lucius' outstretched hand.

"Buki will check on him throughout the night and there are protection and alarm charms all over this room."

"I know. You probably think I'm being silly, but I just can't shake this feeling of unease about… something," she finished lamely.

Lucius' face betrayed nothing. "Not at all, Love, not at all." And with that, he led her from the nursery to their bedroom just down the hall. After getting ready for bed and settling down into endless stuffed pillows, silky sheets, and downy blankets, he listened like a dutiful husband and father as Narcissa recounted her and Draco's day which took a surprisingly long time considering Draco was a baby and slept most of the time. Lucius was not a patient man, but he would do anything to get what he wanted which right now meant listening until Narcissa finally talked herself to sleep while he nodded and gave an occasionally noncommittal murmur. All the while he stroked her hair; something that he knew always put her to sleep without fail. Her speedy departure to dreamland had also been aided by a tiny drop of a colorless liquid known as the draught of the living dead in the glass of water she always drank before bed. The powerful potion would ensure that she would not wake before morning and would have no side effects but a feeling of well rest.

Lucius did not think he was betraying her by doing this without telling her, but he simply knew that she would object to tonight's events without even thinking it over if he alerted her of his plans. She was a mother and would never put her child in danger, no matter the payoff. Lucius loved her with as much heart as he had to give, but he also loved the Dark Lord. He did not want her to put him in the position of having to choose because he knew she would not like his choice. He adored her and gave her everything she wished, but Lord Voldemort was the future and Lucius was doing all he could to ensure that they would be on firm ground when the inevitable victory came. She would learn to see and thank him when he told her. As would Draco.

Lucius waited for as long as he could to ensure that she had indeed entered a deep sleep, but soon got up for time was running out! Quickly, he donned his robes again and ran a careless hand through the hair that did not quite touch his shoulders yet.

Silently, he opened the rich mahogany doors of his bedroom, thanking his diligent crew of house elves for their minor obsessive compulsiveness that made sure every hinge of every door was oiled regularly. Or maybe it was just magic that kept them that way. Peering outside, he could just make out the short, oddly disproportionate form of a house elf, that could only be Buki checking on Draco, just leaving his room. If there had been anyone more ecstatic at the news of Narcissa's pregnancy than Narcissa herself, it would have been Buki, who had supported Narcissa all throughout the baby campaign and then pampered her to within an inch of her life during the nine months of her pregnancy. Since then, she had shifted her attentions to the fruits of her labor. Lost in thought, she was walking towards Lucius who was about to duck his head back into his room, when she disappeared with a near inaudible pop in mid-stride. With the way now clear, Lucius wasted no time in reaching Draco's room. When activated, passing through the wards always felt like passing through a sheet of water and it was only his will that kept him from making sure he was still dry every time he went through. Only he, Narcissa, and Buki could enter the room when the wards were up.

Draco was still lying asleep in his crib when Lucius drew near him. His face was relaxed and cherubic, a light dusting of soft blond fuzz sat atop his head as if it still had not decided if it wanted to take root or fly away on the next swift gust of wind. Lucius still could not fathom that this little pink scream machine was his son. Oh he'd been there every step of the way during his creation, but he always felt like he was on the sidelines aiding Narcissa in another one of her projects. It took no more than a thought for Narcissa to love Draco before he had even been conceived and Lucius suspected it was something built in to all women (except maybe Bella). Narcissa could feel Draco growing inside of her for months while Lucius had to vicariously rely solely on her to relay her feelings and emotions and to holding a hand to her round stomach whenever Draco kicked. Those were the times he felt closest to what she was going through, when his hands were on her warm belly and Draco was having a house party when he thought his parents weren't looking, all three of them connected. Then one day after many hours and a lot of screaming and hand-holding and pushing, something shrill and purple and covered in gore that looked suspiciously like a tiny house elf emerged from Narcissa's stomach and became theirs. He had been told he was a father, but did not feel like he had fulfilled any of the duties that the job entailed.

Which was perhaps why Lucius did what he did next.

Bending down, he scooped up the bundle that was Draco and all of his blankets. He was light, almost weightless as though if he looked away, Lucius would not know that he was holding someone in his arms. He realized he had never really been alone with Draco before because Narcissa or Buki or someone else had always been there with them. It was a bit disconcerting and he froze for a moment watching his sleeping son by the soft light of the full moon, that sweet baby scent slowly pervading his body and taking him over.

Shaking himself out of his daze, he turned to leave coming face to face with Buki. He had not expected her to be back so soon.

"Buki was just getting Master Draco an extra blanket," she said with a rather confused expression on her face. He silently cursed the overly attentive house elf. Draco already had five blankets!

Quickly, before Buki could even process what was happening, Lucius had shifter Draco to one arm and whipped his wand out. Pointing it at Buki, he whispered _"Imperio!"_

Immediately, Buki's back stiffened and her eyes took on a glazed appearance.

_"You will return to your bed, go to sleep and not stir until your usual hour in the morning. You will forget that you saw me this night and in the morning when you awake, you will remember checking on Draco all through the night with no troubles"_ Lucius said in a soft melodic baritone.

Buki said "Yes master," and turned to slowly do as she was told.

Lucius waited a few moments to give her a head start, and then he made his way out of the room and down the hall. Just one short hour ago, he had walked down this very hall feeling energy and excitement, thinking of nothing but the glory he would receive, but now shrouded in the quiet of a house at rest with the light weight of his son in his arms, he began to wonder if he should be doing this, if it was right… for Draco. This thought was enough to stop him in his tracks for he'd never considered the welfare of others if it was in direct opposition to his own. What's more, he'd never _had_ to. He'd do whatever was necessary to insure the safety of his new family, but so far what was good for him had been good for his family as well. Yet if he concluded that this plan was not in Draco's best interest, would he, no _could_ he got through with it even though it would serve his own gain? The plan was dangerous for sure, but he trusted the Dark Lord…

Suddenly a white hot and unrelenting burning started on his left forearm, slowly escalating in intensity.

His hour was up, the Dark Lord had arrived.

The burning sensation didn't feel too bad tonight which meant that Lord Voldemort wasn't angry, perhaps one might have gone so far as to say he was in a pleasant mood. And he had every reason to be; it wasn't every night he initiated a plan that could potentially bring him great power and his own personal near indestructible army. Lucius redoubled his pace down the hall, the luminescent moonlight that had been streaming in moments before growing dimmer as a cloud drifted past, blocking out its light. Lucius was not so superstitious or romantic as to think it was an omen of how the night would end.

Malfoy Manor was an old house, its foundation steeped in the magic of generations. It held may secrets, all of which were impossible to uncover as it was not possible to have existed for so many hundreds of years without its own manner of protection. It had been called on to defend itself (and sometimes attack) quite a few times during its extensive life and had several tricks up its sleeve. One of which was that no one but a Malfoy could apparate or portkey inside of it or the grounds without permission. Thus Lucius had made Voldemort a portkey that had been set to go off at exactly half past eleven. The ceremony was to begin at the exact stroke of the hour as one day died and another simultaneously began.

Lucius hurried down the stairs to meet the Dark Lord in the foyer; he should have been there already awaiting his master! It seemed like every time he saw him, his master's appearance had changed just a little bit. Each time, he felt a little more powerful and a little less human. This occasion was no different. As Lucius descended the stairs drawing nearer and nearer to Lord Voldemort, he could see the hooded figure of a man standing in the middle of the foyer. He was tall and with his slate gray robes and cold presence could have been mistaken for a dementor. Lucius was still a ways away and could not see underneath the hood, but could guess that what was there would not be what he remembered. The Dark Lord was always undergoing countless experiments and delving deeper into dark magic. Many of his undertakings were not without physical manifestations of their results and now standing in front of him Lucius caught a quick jarring glimpse of the latest before bowing as deeply as he could with Draco still in his arms. Rising, he took a longer look at his master, who had swept back his hood.

The Dark Lord was now completely devoid of all features that could have identified him as human. His skin was waxy gray and smooth with an almost metallic sheen to it. His head was completely bald and shone in what little light was coming through the windows. What's more, there was not one bit of hair on his body as far as Lucius could see – no eyebrows, no whiskers, not even a five o'clock shadow. His eyes were hooded as if they tried to shield one from what lay in their ruby depths. There were no longer any whites or pupils to his eyes. Their scarlet irises had expanded and consumed them. His pale lips were almost nonexistent, but then he smiled and Lucius thought it was almost impossible for lips so thin to conceal those long jagged rows of teeth. It was almost profane how white and straight they were. Perhaps the most noticeable change to his face was what was missing – a nose. In the place of Voldemort's nose were two vertical slits that flared slightly in and out as he breathed, a bit like gills. Hs face was a barren wasteland, abandoned.

All of Lucius' senses screamed at him in unison: _Do not turn your back on him!_ Serving the Dark Lord went against all natural compulsions and tendencies, but it was also in his nature to seek out power and the Dark lord was nothing if not powerful. It rolled off of him in waves that threatened to overtake Lucius, carrying their own undertow.

"My lord, I am sorry I was not here to receive you as soon as you arrived."

"Yes, but I am in a generous mood tonight and were it not for you, our little experiment might not have been able to take place." His voice was sibilant and pulled at things deep inside of Lucius. Lucius knew that the Dark Lord was not being completely truthful. That if it had not been him, it would have been another of the Dark Lord's followers participating, but the experiment _would_ have proceeded; Lord Voldemort always got what he wanted. It was true, though, that Lucius had volunteered when others had been reluctant or unable to step forward. He had ambitiously seen this as a way to gain favor in his lord's eyes and rise among the Death Eater ranks.

One night, a week ago exactly, Lucius' tattoo had burned summoning him to the Dark Lord's side. He and all of the other fifty or so followers had stood around in a circle, their black hoods raised. Lord Voldemort had begun his speech with:

"We are powerful and they are not. We have magic and they have electricity, machines, and other poor substitutes for what comes to us naturally. We are deserving while they are not. It is the law of nature that the most powerful species rules. Too long they have held their throne of power and it is time we seize what is rightfully ours. We are everything they are and more, yet we do not have the control. They go about their lives everyday oblivious to our existence while we must watch our every move, step, and word to keep them in the dark. Living the way that we do goes against what nature intended and we must remedy this great injustice. Muggles have ruled this planet for too long and their time is up. They will hide behind their numbers no longer!" With this pronouncement a cheer went up from the Death Eaters.

"Our charge is made even more difficult by our misguided brethren. Our world is in danger and we are the only ones who can see the path of destruction we follow. Every day the wizarding world draws nearer and nearer to that of the muggles. Soon they will discover our existence and our safety will be no more. The muggles will see us as a threat when they realize just how much more powerful we are than them. They will seek to control us then, failing that, eradicate us. We cannot let that happen and so we must bear this burden that has been thrust upon us. We have been given a great and noble task, one which will not garner fame and admiration from the masses, but their hate and contempt. Yet we must continue on in our struggle. We must save us from ourselves. Our current leaders are incompetent and do not see the danger we are in. They'd like to continue to coexist peacefully with the muggles, but we few gathered hear tonight know that this is neither possible nor right." Murmurings of agreement spread around the circle.

"No one seems to understand the threat that mudbloods and half-bloods pose to our way of life," Voldemort continued. "They are magical folk but they are also the bridge between our two worlds. They bring into our world muggle ideas and beliefs and take back with them our secrets and weaknesses. They will betray us to the muggles from whence they came and we cannot let that happen. They are beneath us and we must treat them like the enemy. We will strike while we have the advantage of surprise ensuring that the muggles cannot fall back on their sheer numbers to protect themselves. We must do this because we deserve the power. We must do this because we can no longer continue as we have. We must do this for our families and for all wizardkind!" Another, louder cheer could be heard this time.

"How many here tonight would do anything for their family? Step forward." Everyone did. "How many here fear for the safety of their little ones?" All those with children stepped forward. "How many here wished there was a way to give them the tools to be able to protect themselves and survive this war?" A step closer. "Well my brethren, I have found a way." The Death Eaters' surprise was palpable. "I can make your children so powerful, they will be able to perform magic without the use of a wand, so powerful that they can pull the very magic from a being, and so powerful that their very senses will be attuned to all things magical enabling them to see, smell, hear, and perhaps even taste it. They will be able to protect themselves and serve our cause. I will make each child a Vindex." All was silent, but a shiver of disquiet ran through everyone. This news was beyond surprising, this was impossible what he was promising.

There hadn't been a Vindex in centuries. The scrolls containing the spells and rituals needed to create them were said to have been destroyed after the war between the Vindices and regular wizards. Incredibly powerful, Vindices used to be the protectors of the wizarding world. That was until they became tired of fighting each other in wars that they hadn't started. They united against their former masters and the devastation that subsequently ensued had nearly been the end of wizardkind. They were narrowly defeated. To make sure that nothing like it ever happened again, all of the parchments detailing their creation were burned and never spoken of again, relegating them to the realms of urban legends and old wives tales. They became known as mors necis, bringers of painful death, instead of vindices, the sentinels that they had originally been.

Now Lord Voldemort professed to have the key to resurrecting them. "The war between vindex and wizard had been a result of poor leadership and control. I will ensure that history does not repeat itself." If it had been anyone else swearing to such an incredible oath, no one would have believed him. The Dark Lord looked around making eye contact with each parent. Seeing something that satisfied him, he nodded once and moved on. "Now, the ceremony as you all well know will be dangerous, but I as well as your child will be at risk. Thus I will value the life of your beloved as highly as I value my own. All that I require is but a babe aged no more than four years to be the first to make this miraculous transformation. Step forward."

The magic that was required to do what the Dark Lord promised was very dark and shrouded in mystery. It could be prove fatal, especially to the first child to undergo the experiment, but the Dark Lord himself would be at risk as well. Lucius knew his master was a cunning and brilliant man. He had undergone several experiments of his own and survived all of them. He always weighed the risks and the rewards before putting his life on the line. Lucius did not know a man more dedicated to evading death so who better to entrust the life of his first born in this endeavor than Voldemort himself.

Lucius was the first to step forward. Others followed suit though none looked as confident as he did. Inside, Lucius was trying his best to convince himself that he believed all that he had rationalized, but it would not do to let any of that show. He took a gulp of air and looked around him. There were still some who had not stepped forward, the ones with no children or children too old. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius could tell Bellatrix was positively fuming and probably cursing her womb. If she had a child she would have thrown it at the Dark Lord before he would even have had a chance to reassure everyone of their children's safety. She was wild and professed herself to be the Dark Lord's most devoted follower. In this moment, her child would be nothing more to her than a means of gaining further favor. Lucius was grateful for small miracles and that Bella did not have another life to wreck as badly as she had her own. He rationalized that he was not being hypocritical because he truly cared for his son.

Standing in the circle across from him, Lucius spotted Snape. His hood was up, but Lucius could feel he held all of Snape's attention.

The Dark Lord walked around the circle, stopping in front of Lucius. He stared into his eyes then gave a soft chuckle that slithered wetly down Lucius' spine. He knew his master could see into his head. "Very well Lucius, very well." Then turning back to the others, "You are all dismissed!" Next, he turned away beckoning his servant to follow.

"Lucius a word…"

Bringing himself back to the present, Lucius led his master across the foyer and down a hall to a door that would spill them outside beneath the stars. Their path led them through Narcissa's garden full of flowers with upturned faces then out onto well kept grounds. However, the farther they walked, the wilder the terrain became and soon they were marching through wild grass and weeds into the woods. All the while, the Dark Lord silently followed Lucius like a ghost. The only indications that he was there were the hairs on the back of Lucius' neck standing at attention. The trees became thicker and thicker as they went sometimes blocking the moon out altogether. But its silvery rays always reappeared through the branches to guide their way.

It was not coincidence that this was the night of the full moon. Nights like this were filled with energy. The readings were always off the charts with spurts and surges of wild pure magic. It was this overabundance that caused werewolves to shift, the magic in the air calling to the magical beings within them. It was also why difficult and complicated ceremonies requiring huge amounts of energy were performed on this night. Lucius and the Dark Lord would be taking full advantage of it by performing their ceremony outside with nothing between them and the heavens.

Finally they reached a large flat circular clearing. It seemed to be glowing from the moonlight flooding into it contrasting with the shadowed trees that marked its edges. In the middle was a large stone altar. It looked hewn from the natural wear of the ages rather than anything man-made. A cauldron with a fire already dancing beneath it sat to one side and a small silent stream to the other. It was to the altar the Lucius walked, nudging the unconscious man out of his way with his foot before gently laying Draco upon the stone cushioned with more blankets and pillows equipped with warming spells. The altar was slightly bowl-shaped with the edges higher than the middle ensuring that Draco could not roll off the side were he to ever get past the mounds of padding around him.

Lucius had been a busy boy earlier that evening and he surveyed his work making sure that everything was in its place and ready to be used. Tonight, there would really be two ceremonies performed – one to ask Mother Nature to share some of her extra energy on this night and the other to bring Draco into his extra power. Lucius rinsed the mortar and pestle in the stream, restocked the fire, accounted for all of the herbs, roots, and other ingredients they would need, and then finally checked on the unconscious man.

He had dark almost black hair that was tangled and in need of a wash, hollowed cheeks and a roman nose. In a different time, under different circumstances, he would have been considered beautiful. However, right now he was lying curled on the ground, his thin malnourished form covered in goose bumps because all he wore was a thin cloak. Lucius could not have given him more covering because the Dark Lord wanted him to suffer and would frown upon any comforts afforded him. Early that morning, before even the elves were awake, two Death Eaters had delivered him to the Manor. He had been covered in bruises and his own blood and could barely walk. He had been thoroughly tortured. Lucius had washed, fed, and bandaged him as best he could, but he could not heal him; the Dark Lord would know. The bandages had had to come off before Lucius brought him to the clearing as well so that now he was a sad sight indeed. Lucius was not a cruel man, but he would do whatever he needed to do to protect himself and his family. He would not put them in danger by helping this man in a way that would anger his master.

It escaped him why he had even taken care of the man at all. They had never spoken a word to each other and knew next to nothing about the other, but Lucius suspected it had something to do with the defiant grey eyes that had watched him through swollen beaten flesh, waiting to be betrayed. Grey eyes like the clouds before the storm, grey like Lucius's, grey like Draco's. The man's eyes reminded Lucius of both his past self and his future.

The Death Eaters had been searching for him since his disappearance one year ago. He had deserted the cause and looking at him now Lucius pitied him. He was still a boy, sporting peach fuzz along his jaw and unconscious looked like he should have been tucked away in bed, dreaming of his NEWTs rather than sprawled in a clearing waiting to die. Truthfully, he should have already been dead, but Lord Voldemort had decided to save him for tonight's activities. He was meant to be the human sacrifice; such was the fate of traitors.

"Revive him, Lucius, so that we may start," the Dark Lord commanded. Lucius looked back at him and saw that he had already taken off his robe so that all he was wearing was a loincloth of undyed cotton. His sickly skin was almost the same color as the cloth and Lucius quickly turned away again. Kneeling, he made sure that the bonds securing the unconscious man to the foot of the altar were secure, and then divested him of the last layer protecting him from the elements. He stood up, backed away a few steps then muttered a slow almost reluctant _Ennervate_. Immediately wild eyes snapped open, pinning him where he stood enthralled by the silvery depths.

Panic, immediate and consuming surged through me, up and up and up until there was nowhere else to go but out through wide popping eyes. I stared into ones that reminded me so much of my own, momentarily stalling my hysteria. Raw unguarded emotions crossed them, concern, regret, pity, anger. They ran the gamut until there was nothing but a blank face as if he was shielding from me. The last thing I remember was lying on a cot somewhere dark and underground. Then waking as the man entered the room bringing blinding light with him. He'd looked down at me for a few seconds then pulled out his wand and stupefied me.

The man now broke the stare turning to something behind him that I could not see and the panic that had been overwhelming me before I opened my eyes returned tenfold. For now I could see and what was getting to my brain wasn't making any sense at all. Where was I? What was I doing here? Why could I not move my arms! My heart was pounding its way out of my chest and my breath came in pants and gasps. I struggled futilely to move if even just an inch but I was stuck. I tried to calm myself. Panic wouldn't help me now, but it wasn't working. That primal fight or flight instinct held the reins to my control and was reducing me to a quivering caged animal.

That wouldn't do at all. I tore my eyes from the back of the man who had awoken me and looked up into the sky. It was filled with stars. The sheer vastness and beauty of the heavens helped calm me. I picked out Orion, one of my favorite constellations from a lifetime ago, and traced him with my eyes over and over until I could control my breathing and the sound of my pounding heart did not block out all others. I noted that the number of stars I could see indicated that wherever we were wasn't near a city with all its bright lights and I was glad that at least some logical thought had returned to me.

Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings. I could see that I was outside in a clearing in the woods, that half of me was freezing in the cold October air and the other half was warm because of the fire next to me. That I was tied to a giant stone. Shit! They were going to kill me here and now. I had wondered why they didn't finish me off in the dungeons last night, but instead took me to a strange house. I'd chalked it all up to Voldemort having his sick twisted fun in drawing out my torture. Yet my experiences in the house had not been any form of torture I had ever heard of. The man, Lucius I think his name was, had tried to take care of me. But now look where I was. I wish he hadn't tried to help me in the first place, given me that sliver of hope.

The man in question stepped away to the other side of the big stone I was tied to and when I saw who was behind him I nearly saved them the work of killing me by dying on the spot. Lord Voldemort himself now stood looming above me. _Did he know what I had done?_ He never made personal killings unless it was a special occasion. Revenge? He came closer and closer until he was only a foot away then squatted down until he was invading the hell out of my personal space. I didn't back away. I'd accepted the inevitability of my death back in the dungeons when they'd been torturing me, maybe even long before that when I'd run all those months ago. Having done this, I knew there was no point to cowering and giving Voldemort what he wanted. He trailed one long cadaverous finger down my cheek then grasped my chin and turned my face so I could not avoid his eyes.

"I know you're afraid; I can see it in your head. You cannot hide anything from me." _He_ _thinks he's the only one who can use occlumency_. It was just as hard to keep the victory I felt buried as it was to keep the fear at the forefront of my thoughts to distract him from delving deeper into my mind.

"You have betrayed me, your brethren, and our cause. You must have known that I would find you, but still yet you ran. Your sins have finally caught up with you and tonight you will pay for your transgressions. I will be performing a powerful and intricate ceremony with its own set of specific… ingredients. You will be donating blood and magic and I fear you will not survive the night. You will die aiding the cause that you abandoned. Quite ironic, don't you think?" And then he laughed in my face and stood up, thankfully letting go of my jaw.

"Any last words?"

"Yes." I took a moment to compose my thoughts. "You're a bloody madman!" Oh well. "You say you want to get rid of all the muggles and muggleborns, but everyday you kill more and more purebloods to do it. By the time you finally get what you want, you'll be the only one left and you're not even a – "His knee connected with my face and I could feel the blood gushing from my nose.

"You will be silent and speak no more lies."

Fine, let him keep his secret, it would have to come out sooner or later. My body had taken one abuse too many, the pain was unbearable and blackness engulfed my vision.

Lucius had been listening to every word of the exchange while trying to appear otherwise occupied. He had to give the boy some credit for his bold, if unwise, words to Voldemort and he wondered what he had been about to say that had angered his master so.

Lucius was adding the last ingredient, agrimony, to a potion that would help the Dark lord and Draco cope with the extreme amount of magic that would be harnessed tonight. It would temporarily heighten their magical thresholds. Lucius himself would not be a part of the ceremony, but would watch from outside a circle of power that would contain the magic. Only those inside would be at risk. This would not be a pleasant night for the yet again unconscious man who was to have no potion to help him.

Leaving the potion to cool, Lucius went to check on Draco who was still peacefully asleep. It was a wonder he was being so good and not waking up and crying through the night. By now he should have needed a nappy change and demanded milk or simply to be held for hours on end. Draco was a very high maintenance baby, true to his Malfoy heritage. Maybe he knew how important tonight was. Lucius would still need to give him something to keep him calm as things became more hectic. Being a baby, Draco would not understand what would soon be happening around him and Lucius did not want to cause Draco undue distress. However, the ceremony could not be performed on children older than four which was the typical age that a child's magic began to take shape and then manifest itself. Children's magic was still malleable before this age and would submit to change growing with the child rather than fighting back or shattering. A great philosopher once hypothesized that witches and wizards only use a small percentage of their magic. Tonight's ceremony would allow Draco to use a larger percentage giving him the capacity and affinity with it to master it wandlessly, attract it with his touch and become aware of it on the level of the five senses.

Getting the mortar and pestle, Lucius assembled the ingredients he would need for the paste. It would be used to coat Draco and Voldemort's bodies with runic symbols that would act as receiving points as they begged the earth and moon to share their power. First was the mallowsweet and sage to connect them with nature. Then some aconite, gurdywood, lavender, fluxweed, rosemary, asphodel root, cinquefoil, and lastly a sprig of mint for freshness. He ground this all up until it was a dark mush. Then he bent down and grabbed a handful of earth from the ground to add to the concoction. Next he used his wand to burn the contents of the pestle. Finally he added water from the stream to cool it and establish the paste-like texture. Now that nature's four elements – earth, fire, air, and water – had all changed the mixture in some way, it was complete.

"My lord, the mixture is ready to be applied."

"Then let us begin."

Lucius went back to the now cooled potion in the cauldron and poured some out in a wooden bowl for Voldemort and Draco. First he passed it to his master who took a healthy gulp (wouldn't want it to wear off at a crucial moment) then went over to Draco. It would be harder to get Draco to drink some, but being a baby, he would only need a little. Lucius had thought of this and poured a bit of the potion into one of the bottles that Narcissa sometimes stored her milk in (he'd pilfered one earlier that day). Then he added a bit of a calming peace draught he'd prepared earlier (around the same time he'd pilfered the bottle). Bringing it to Draco's lips, the baby immediately began to drink, even though he was still half asleep. The potion was not unpleasant tasting (if anything, it was a bit like chicken) and he soon drank enough. Lucius laid him down and picked up the mortar and pestle.

Lucius approached the Dark Lord and began to draw symbols on his chest with a brush made of mooncalf hair. Mooncalves only came out of their burrows during the full moon and were favored magical creatures on this night. After his chest Lucius moved to Voldemort's arms and hands, then his back, his legs and feet, and finally his face and head. The powerful symbols would attract and absorb the wild magic in the air and act as power stores for when his body could not take any more energy. All the while alien sounds came from Voldemort in what Lucius could only guess was a language hat he did not know, one of the druid or even nymph tongues perhaps. He could feel the effect of the words though. The air felt heavier and it crackled with bits of light. A breeze had also started up and the fire beneath the cauldron was higher. The stream also seemed to be churning faster and more recklessly than before.

Then Lucius stepped over to Draco, parted his blankets and removed his outer layers of clothing until he was just in his nappies. He began to draw symbols upon Draco trying to do it quickly before he became chilled. His son looked so peaceful lying on his blankets and again Lucius wondered if he was dong the right thing. This would be dangerous, but it was a calculated danger. The activities of tonight would affect the rest of Draco's life, but he could see no ill effects to the great power that his son would have. He would be one of Voldemort's favored ones and their future would be secure.

His conscience reasonably appeased, Lucius applied the last symbol and felt the power around them take a huge leap. The air was becoming unbearable and it was time for him to leave. He turned to his master and gasped out, "All is now ready; I need only close the circle". The Dark Lord merely nodded for he was still chanting. Lucius went back to the altar and picked up a leather drawstring bag. It contained powdered dragon heart and common sea salt. He would use these to close the magical circle around the ceremony. He walked three clockwise circles around the clearing slowly spilling the contents of the bag onto the earth. Upon the completion of the last circle, he felt the wards go up and solidify. The air suddenly went back to being breathable and flowing around him rather than feeling like something you'd have to break off and chew. He could no longer hear or feel what was going on in the circle; now he could only watch as if at a performance. The silence of the night returned telling Lucius that they had scared all of the creatures from their homes with their magical activity. With the stream as his only companion, he settled down to watch the drama unfold.

I knew I was going to die at some point, but I would never have imagined it'd be like this, tied to a rock, barely able to breathe with a nearly naked Voldemort chanting some arcane language above me. Something had awoken me and it was anyone's guess if it was Voldemort's shrieking or the complete chaos around me. I could barely see for the sharp howling wind and my long hair blowing into my face. I had to back away as far as I could from the fire that had once been pleasantly warm on my side but was now leaping high into the air like a dancer beside me. The cauldron was now bouncing atop the flames twenty feet in the air! On my other side, the stream looked like it was ready to overflow at any moment. Little white caps kept cresting the shore creeping closer and closer to me each time before being sucked back in. I caught a glimpse of the wind becoming a cyclone above me and then the ground took all of my attention by giving an almighty leap. It roiled and shifted beneath me in little waves reminiscent of the stream. What the hell was going on! It seemed like there was a direct correlation between Voldemort's words and the activity around us, the louder he was, the wilder things became. I couldn't tell if little bits of lightning were crackling in the air or if I was just seeing spots because it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Neither option seemed very promising. I was lying prostrate on the ground, my ribs felt like they were being crushed by a giant unrelenting hand. How much longer could I go on like this? There would be no help from Orion again; unnatural swirling clouds had blocked him and everything else out of the sky.

Voldemort started walking towards me and I thought _this is it_, but he walked right past and reached over me for something on the hulking stone slab. When his arms reappeared I thought I had truly lost it. Who in the bloody hell would bring a baby here! No matter how hard I looked, the image in front of me would not change; Voldemort was holding a little baby bundled up in blankets. He was still asleep (how could he sleep at a time like this!) and the peaceful look on his face was completely out of place here.

Quite suddenly, everything stopped.

The wind ceased it's howling, the fire settled down, the water became peaceful, the ground stopped moving, and Voldemort stopped shouting. The silence was deafening. Then Voldemort and the baby began to glow. I looked up and the moon was once again visible. The clouds were clearing and the stars were coming out again. I soon realized that it wasn't Voldemort and the baby themselves that were glowing, but the strange symbols that were all over their bodies. Somehow I managed to recognize a couple from an Ancient Runes textbook from my other life, one for _purity_ and the other for _vessel_. The glow became stronger and stronger. The light was painfully bright and not even closing my eyes would help me escape it. It was all consuming and became everything, but where it seemed to sink into my two companions, it merely surrounded me. Even though I could not see, I could hear a high pitched maniacal laugh coming from Voldemort, he was power drunk.

I realized that this was one of those ceremonies I'd only ever heard of, an urban legend incarnate. It was one where you could ask nature to lend you her energy and she would give it like a mother who could deny her child nothing no matter how undeserving they were. But the power did not last long and did not come without its own consequences. The magic was wild and untamed and could wreak havoc on the system if used too much. This was why very few actually knew how to perform the ceremony. Wild magic did not understand the specific nuances of spell crafting and potions making of normal wizarding magic and was usually reserved as fuel for powerful spells and ceremonies.

The glow began to recede and I could once again make out the forms of Voldemort and the baby. They had an ethereal quality about them. They looked like they had swallowed the moon, a light was shining just below their skin and they moved in their own light breeze.

The look of infinite power is one of peace. To know that nothing can harm you, that you don't need to have a care in the world could only yield such a result and it transformed Voldemort's face. For one brief moment, he looked not happy, but content; he had more power than he knew what to do with and his fear of death was forgotten. Then the euphoria began to wear away and his old mask reappeared. The power had not waned, but the high was gone. His eyes met mine and he looked at me with hate; I had seen him in a moment when all of his shields were down and for that I was going to pay.

He laid the baby down again on the stone slab and picked up what looked to be a mortar and pestle. He rinsed them in the stream and returned to the stone which seemed to serve as both cradle and worktable. From what I could see, it was big enough to handle the job. He began crushing various things with the pestle, herbs and roots as far as I could tell from the brief glimpses I got of them before they disappeared into the bowl. Then he reached for an ornate silver container and poured a dark green liquid in that I could hear bubbling and gave off a bit of steam. Then he turned to me and I knew without a doubt that my time had come to an end.

Once again, he stooped down beside me and I could not help but retreat. I would struggle and do all that I could to make this hard for him. He brandished his wand and said, "_Petrificus Ppartialus_". Immediately my body from the neck down was stiff as a board.

"_Exsolvo_" I was now untied, freed, but could not move an inch.

"_Mobili Bracchium Laevus_." His wand directed my left arm to stretch out from my body.

"_Mobili Bracchia Dextera_." The same for my right arm.

"_Mobili Cruris Laevus_" then "_Mobili Cruris Dextera_" for both my legs. I was now lying spread eagled on the ground like a marionette puppet waiting to see which string would be pulled next. No matter how much I strained I could not move a muscle. It was worse than being tied down, at least then I still had control of my body and could thrash around, as futile as that would be. That panic that had threatened to overtake me when I had first awoken was returning. I couldn't help thinking of my life up to this moment and I wondered how exactly I had ended up here. My family had long since figured me dead and they would never know the truth if it even made a difference. My brother had been right all along and I'd been too caught up in the glamour of it all to see the truth until it had been too late to back out.

I was jerked back to the present by the sharp prick of a blade at my side. I looked down to see a silver dagger carved with intricate detail being trailed across my abdomen. There was a serpent coiled around the hilt, each of its scales shown in relief and its emerald eyes glinted in the firelight as it traversed the plains of my stomach. I looked up to meet my tormentor's eyes and the maniacal unhinged look was back. He was studying my face avidly, soaking up my pain and distress as if it were his ambrosia. I realized that that must have been why he'd left me control of my head and I tried to keep the pain from showing on my face. The dagger methodically made its way up my chest pressing down harder with every inch pricking my skin and leaving a trail of blood that started just under my ribs. It continued up until it was poised on its tip right above my heart.

"I don't usually kill in such a muggle way," he said and a sneer crossed his face at the word muggle. "But it is not without its merits." It looked as if his eyes were getting redder and redder. "You're welcome to scream if you want," he finished in an eager breathy voice. Then he raised the dagger a few inches above my skin and plunged it into my heart. The pain was so unbearable that I could not help but do as he had invited me to and I threw back my head and bellowed my agony.

I couldn't believe how much it hurt! I felt each inch of the blade as it penetrated my body slicing through muscle and sinew. A lifetime went by. Nothing moved, just his hand on the dagger and our eyes as we watched it disappear within me. Finally it was buried to the hilt and could go no further. My skin was hot and sticky as the blood ran out all over my chest competing with the chill in the air and confusing my senses. The blood was so thick and red, just like his eyes.

I was Prometheus on the mountain, only instead of my liver being ravaged, it was my heart. His dagger was an eagle that ate at my most vital organ and I felt the pain of thousands of days enduring this torture. He was Zeus out for vengeance only he did not know the fire I had brought to mankind and I feared no one ever would.

Voldemort drew back his hand leaving the dagger in my chest, his sickly pale flesh glistening with my blood, a look of glee on his face. He positioned the mortar bowl by my side to catch the blood before it pooled onto the ground beside me. "_Adfluo celerius._" Suddenly I was bleeding faster; the blood was rushing to leave my body! The cold began to win out and my body started to shiver. My limbs felt heavy and my vision began to blur.

The bowl was not big and soon it was almost full. The blood slowed down to a more normal pace and Voldemort removed the spells holding me down. We both knew that I would not be able to escape or attack. I would die here. He took the dagger out of my chest and it was followed by a spurt of blood. He put the bowl on the stone slab and rinsed the dagger in the stream. Then he suspended his hand over the bowl and sliced his palm open from one side to the other. His face did not show any signs of pain, he merely repeated the spell that caused his blood flow to quickly into the bowl, combining with my own. I imagined that our blood would not mix, that his would fall heavy and dark to rest on the bottom of the bowl sliding against mine.

He mixed everything together then picked up a brush and began to cover his chest with a large runic symbol. I could not recognize it until I realized it was really a mix of many making a circle. Again I saw the symbol for _vessel_ but this time I also recognized _power_, _channel_, and _key_ among the jumble. It came to me that he had been speaking for some time. I saw his lips moving but the sound was not reaching my ears. For some reason, this was not scaring me as much as it should have. I read his lips as best I could and realized that he was speaking Latin this time. Something about being the liaison between two things and facilitating a transference of power. Then he turned his attention to something on the stone slab and I could only assume it was the baby on whom he was now drawing symbols that I could not see from my position on the ground. With his back to me I had no idea what he was saying this time, but I could only guess that the baby was going to receive the power since it wouldn't be Voldemort and it certainly wouldn't be me.

I was drifting in and out of awareness. The blood was not flowing as fast as it had in the beginning, but it was still coming out, sliding all over down my sides and around my neck. I tried to concentrate on anything but the unbearable pain. My eyes drifted up once again to the moon and stars who were winking coyly at me. I wondered if the moon wished she could take back her gift tonight. Did she regret her hand in my death? It was so easy to pick out Orion. When I was little, I used to imagine growing up to be a strong hunter like him. My brother and I used to take turns playing him and rescuing each other. But tonight he was not here and I had no Artemis who loved me so much that she would place me among the stars when I died.

Voldemort seemed to have finished what he was doing to the baby and came over to me armed with bowl and brush. He cleaned off a spot on my chest and began to paint runes on it in the same place that his were located. I didn't have the energy to raise my head to see what they said, but I knew I was to supply the power. Instead of looking at my chest, I concentrated on Voldemort's face to confirm this. He was concentrating intently on his drawings and chanting. His lips told me that my power would awaken dormant parts of the baby's magic. His power would be great and I did not want to imagine what Voldemort had in store for the poor child.

He went to retrieve the baby then returned to my side, positioning himself so that he was kneeling beside me. From what I could see, I guessed that the baby's whole body was covered in symbols and not just his chest as was the case with Voldemort and me. He resumed chanting and suddenly the sound came back. His voice was growing steadily louder and he raised the baby above his head as if presenting him to the sky. _"Qui aliquando fuit adoperido autem erit patescido. Pate ianua de suus cerebrum ut potet habere pollentia immensa. Suus veneficium erit adaugido!"_1 Over and over he repeated the words without anything happening, I could not feel anything magical in the air with that sixth sense that all wizards and witches have.

Then the world fell apart.

First, a wind picked up around us. It blew harder and faster pulling at my hair. The clouds overhead swirled and sparkled with lightning and thunder. The fire that had been dying out under the long forgotten cauldron burst into being once more as if alive. It overturned the cauldron and ran around the clearing surrounding us in flames that crackled menacingly and grew ever higher. The stream that had calmed down surged over the bank and clearing ground, sizzling and turning to vapor whenever it came into contact with the fire encircling us. Lastly, Voldemort's voice changed. It became guttural and dropped an octave, making sounds that could never have come from a human larynx. His body began to shake and it seemed to become harder for him to speak.

Lightning began to strike all over the clearing leaving scorch marks in its wake. Then the inevitable happened and one bolt of lightning struck Voldemort in his chest in the center of the runes. He screamed but continued chanting. _Qui aliquando fuit adoperido autem erit patescido. _Another hit him in the back and he wavered nearly toppling over before regaining his balance. More and more bolts latched onto him enveloping him in light and static. Then the light began to move upward around his arms to his hands that were holding the baby. The baby began to glow and his skin drank in the energy and power, the runes all over him shining brightly.

Transfixed, I watched all of this happening above me for what seemed an eternity. Then Voldemort shifted the baby to one hand and reached the other one down to lay flat in the circle of runes on my chest. _"Accit veneficium del indignus. Comple dignus corpus."_ 2I felt an immediate jump in energy and my body arched uncontrollably off the ground. I wanted to pry his hand off my chest my chest, but couldn't move my arms. The wound below my heart was momentarily forgotten in the face of this shock to my system. It was like something had sunk its claws into my skin from the inside and was simultaneously pushing out and pulling in. My magic was swirling faster and faster inside of me and was seconds away from ripping me open to get out. Suddenly it began to ram my chest as if it was an enemy army storming the fortress of my ribs and skin. Over and over until it breached the gates and surged up into Voldemort's waiting hand. For long moments, my magic just kept pouring out of me and he was there to suck it all up. The runes on our chests flared blindingly bright and the baby was nothing but a ball of light, energy, and power. It was truly a sight to behold.

Then, as suddenly as it all began, it stopped. The lightning that seemed to have been the only thing keeping Voldemort up released him and he slumped over holding the baby close. My back slammed back into the ground aching and shuddering with aftershocks and being in such a painful position for so long. For a few minutes we just sat or lay there on the ground panting heavily and sweating. The sky again cleared, the fire ring fizzled out and the water receded back into the stream leaving so much mud in its wake. In this position, I had an up close view of the baby and again wondered who would submit their child to such madness. Voldemort must have taken him by force, his parents were Merlin knew where now. Then the baby's eyes fluttered open and I knew exactly where this child came from.

Grey. His eyes were grey just like his father's.

My wonder at this revelation was cut short by Voldemort rising to his feet, the baby cradled in his arms. Turning his back to me and walking away, he rasped three words: "It is done". And it became suddenly clear that the only reason I had survived the ritual was because Voldemort had been sustaining me. It was as if the events of the last several minutes caught up to me all at once and my body erupted in excruciating pain. My back felt broken in more than one place, the wound over my heart throbbed, and my chest felt like an empty pit. I did not look down the length of my body for fear of what I might see. Now that I was no longer needed, Voldemort had taken back his power and it was time to die.

A wizard cannot survive for long without his magic. His time is cut even shorter if he is nearly empty of blood. Spasms began to rock my body, my limbs jerking uncontrollably. The little blood I had left was rushing in my ears, blocking out all other sounds. No one ever thinks they're going to die. We know it's a fact of life that at some point, we will breathe our last breath, but it doesn't sink in until you're actually dying. Sometimes not even then. I realized that contrary to what I had thought, I hadn't really accepted the inevitability of my death. I had been waiting for a miracle, waiting to be saved. But help never came.

Voldemort was standing above me watching and I did not want him to be the last thing I saw. Instead I turned my eyes once more to the stars above. So much had happened tonight yet they remained unchanged. Orion would continue to hunt the night skies no matter what happened here on earth and it gave me a bitter bit of comfort to know that Voldemort would never own the heavens. There were still things that he would never control. Gazing up, I drifted into memories of falling asleep on green grass, of staring into the depths of the night, and of my brother lying next to me, his hair tickling my cheeks as we tried to number the stars.

Lucius was perspiring. The ceremonies had been more than he had expected in more ways than one. He was anxious to check over Draco. Having something explained to you and watching it in living color were two completely different things. Nonetheless, he was a little taken aback by his sudden attack of fatherly instincts. The last burst of power had blown the circle to bits and pieces and thrown him to the ground. If he was just catching the tail end of what went on in the circle, he didn't want to think about what he had missed. He hurried to the stone altar where Lord Voldemort was just putting Draco down. Wide grey eyes stared innocently up at him while Lucius quickly pulled away the blankets to gently check him over. Everything seemed to be in place, but Lucius waved his wand over him just to be sure. He giggled and cooed at the magic's tickling sensation energetically kicking up his feet. That was reassurance enough for Lucius and he wrapped him tightly in his blankets rejuvenating the warming charms on them. He turned to look for the Dark lord who was donning his robes and gathering his things. He picked up his wand from beside the dead man and spoke:

"Tonight was a great night Lucius. We have taken the first step in a plan that will secure our future. Your son will play a key role and you should be very proud. We will not know if we were successful tonight for another seven days still, but contact me at the earliest sign and we will proceed from there." There was an energy about him, whether from the massive amounts of power harnessed that night, the killing or even a heady mixture of both, Lucius could not be sure. Although, he was betting on the last. "Dispose of the body. I must go for there is much to plan. Wormtail has some promising news that could remove a thorn from my side permanently." And with that, Lucius made him a portkey that would take him to the edge of the grounds. In seconds he was gone.

It was as if his master's presence had been keeping the full horror of the night at bay, keeping Lucius' humanity away, but with his departure, it all came rushing back. He was standing in a clearing that still tingled with magic looking down at a dead man who was really just a boy while his baby son, who should have been in bed long ago, lay on the stone next to him gurgling and playing with his feet.

The boy's face was relaxed as if he had merely passed away in his sleep rather than being stabbed then used for a ritual ceremony. His eyes were still open, staring up at the sky. Lucius looked up and saw nothing but stars. He wondered if perhaps the boy had been looking at Death come to retrieve him when he died.

Watching the ceremony had been almost too much. Stuck on the outside, Lucius saw everything unfold in silence. He saw Mother Nature give the Dark Lord and Draco her power while the boy cowered on the ground. He saw the Dark Lord's blade pierce the boy's heart and the torrents of dark blood that subsequently poured out of him. He saw a blood-spattered Voldemort sucking up his pain while his son lay just a few feet away. And it was all so wrong. Children should have been left out of the fight. His son should not have had to endure the night's events and the boy should not have been held to a promise he had made before he could fathom what he had agreed to.

Perhaps the most jarring part of the night was when Voldemort's masks came down and Lucius saw what lay beneath – utter insanity and destruction. Lucius had seen beneath the façade and knew that no one should take that much pleasure in killing, in being covered in someone's blood and watching the light fade from their eyes. This was very different from an _Avada Kedavra_, this was more intimate than a kiss, and it took a certain type of person to enjoy it. Voldemort wanted to exterminate all muggles and mudbloods, yes, but he wasn't above killing as many wizards and purebloods as necessary. He didn't actually care about anyone; when he had his empire, those who were left would be his slaves and nothing else. All would be his puppets and playthings existing solely for his amusement and comfort. He would kill everyone in the world and keep it all to himself if he could.

Lucius cursed softly under his breath. Yesterday he had been worried about his position if Voldemort lost the war and now he was worried about what would happened if he won. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. With much to think of, he only knew one thing for sure – that Malfoys didn't lose. He was going to make sure his family came out on top and would do whatever was needed to ensure that.

Now, what to do about the body? A wizard has many ways of hiding things, but Lucius for some reason decided to bury the body. He transfigured a tree into a plain wooded coffin and levitated the body into it after cleaning off the blood and runes and closing the wound as best he could. Lucius didn't want to lay him to rest in the very place he had died so gruesomely, the last thing he needed was a haunting, so he would have to find somewhere else. He gathered up his things, stuffed the ingredients and bowl (after washing it in the stream) into the cauldron then shrank that so it could fit into his pocket. Then he gathered up Draco and all his blankets and pillows in one hand and levitated the coffin with his wand in his other. He took one last look at the clearing with its mud, lightning and fire scorch marks, and blood stains; it was decidedly worse for the wear of man's activities. Then he turned and walked into the woods with the coffin silently at his back. The only indications that it was following him were the hairs at the back of his neck standing at attention.

He stopped when he finally got to the edge of the woods. He could see Malfoy Manor sitting on the crest of a hill. It was still night and the moon was still out. If tonight's events were just a fraction of what went on every time the sun went down, Lucius wondered how the moon could watch with such a stoic face. He wondered how lives could change, how they could end, in such a short space of time.

Lucius opened the coffin one more time and placed the cloak he had given the boy once more over his body. He took a final look at his face, paused to let the boy get one last look at the heavens above, then with two fingers closed his eyes forever. Lucius sealed the coffin and lowered it into a hole he'd dug right underneath a huge gnarled oak tree at the edge of the forest. He covered the hole with dirt and magic and when he was finished, the ground was restored as if nothing had happened. He stared dumbly at the spot wondering if he had made it all up in his head, but his son in his arms squashed that hope. Readjusting his hold, he turned and made his way home not once looking back.

He paused when he reached the foyer where he had met Voldemort just a short eternity ago and released a breath he did not know he had been holding. He was panting, his heart racing and he did not know why. He had to sink down onto the steps of the stairs before he lost control. For a few minutes he just sat staring at nothing and clutching Draco to his chest. He let the warm baby scent pervade his nostrils once more and his pulse slowed. _What have I done?_ Over and over he asked himself this question until it became _What will I do?_ He knew what he had to do, just not how, but he would find a way to protect his family even if it killed him. With certainty he knew that he would die for them, a fact he hadn't been so sure of earlier in the night. Things had changed.

He stood and walked up the stairs to Draco's room. The protection charms were still activated and he felt that drenched sensation once more. He lay Draco down in his crib and gently pressing his lips to the fuzz on top of his head. Lucius stood there and watched until his son drifted off to sleep before making his way to his room. Out of a hall window, he saw in the distance the edge of the forest and the old oak. Lucius changed into his nightclothes and, overcome with exhaustion, fell into bed. Narcissa did not wake as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him tightly. He fell asleep with his nose pressed to the nape of her neck breathing in her scent and trying hard not to think of the eyes of the dead boy he'd just buried.

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_Eight days later…_

It was utter chaos and pandemonium in the wizarding world. The rumors were true, the Dark Lord had fallen at the hands of a babe no older than Draco. On the one hand, Lucius was relieved that the future he had seen in those insane eyes would never come to fruition, but on the other, he knew that his family would be unprotected and at the mercy of a vengeful Ministry of Magic. They couldn't prove anything, though, and a hefty sum of galleons would ensure this. What's more, Draco had shown no signs of taking to the magic performed a week ago. Things were looking up. The Malfoys would get through this.

Lucius walked into the sunny morning room, kissed his wife in greeting and took his seat at the head of the table. The elves had made his favorite breakfast – eggs Benedict.

Nothing would ruin his day.

He was just about to take his first bite when Narcissa casually said between sips of tea: "Lucius, this morning I was changing Draco's nappies and I found the strangest mark…"

Shit.

1: _That which was once closed shall be laid bare. Open the door to his mind so that he may possess immense power. His magic will be increased. _

2­­­: _Summon the magic of the undeserving. Fill the worthy body._

Who is that mystery man? Hmmmm… I love reviews! dangles cookies


	2. Chapter 1: Potions And Molds

Title: Vindicated

Author: Quicksilver Eyes

Rating: M later on

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Summary: Draco's always looked out for number one, but a bushy headed Gryffindor, an escalating war, and old secrets long buried but not forgotten make this harder than one would expect.

Word Count: 7,736

Disclaimer: I do not nor have I ever owned the Harry Potter series. It is the property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. so please don't sue. I'm just borrowing

AN: Not HBP compatible although parts will be used. You'll see what I mean…

_Chapter One – Potions and Molds_

'Dammit', Draco Malfoy thought as he stormed down the corridor. It was 11:00 PM on a Friday night and he was making his rounds patrolling Hogwarts' hallowed halls for wayward students. He didn't object to the patrolling per se, but for Merlin's sake, Head Boys should not have to give up their Friday nights to chase around sticky-fingered first years who thought they had something to prove. There were other prefects who could have been patrolling in his stead and he highly doubted anyone would be out roaming the halls now either. Friday nights were spent in common rooms celebrating the upcoming weekend and having survived the week (with all body parts intact at least).

To top it all off, Draco had seen not one sign of his fellow patrolling partner and Head Girl tonight. If he didn't know better, he would have suspected she'd skived off tonight's duties and was currently brushing her teeth and not combing the shaggy animal on her head in preparations for bed. Yes he could almost hear her voice now telling her enchanted mirror to wake her up at whatever ungodly hour it was that she rose in the morning. What really irked him was how she'd been the one to suggest they take this rotation together in the first place.

"Malfoy, we should patrol together on Friday," she'd said to him as soon as he walked through the doors to the library after only the first day of classes. She had been sitting at a table facing the doors making it seem as if she had been simultaneously looking out for when he came in and making herself visible and available for anyone who needed her. '_Such a good little Head Girl_,' Draco had thought. Her voice had been suitably hushed for Madam Pince's liking, but it somehow managed to cut through the heavy silence that always pervaded the space and the light murmurings of other students to reach his ears. He didn't know how she did it, but he could always pick out her voice, grating though it was, in any crowd. He suspected it was from the way she was always lecturing on about some little know, little cared for bit of trivia.

Either way, when he heard her suggest they willingly patrol together, he was immediately on guard. There was no love lost between them and that she would consentingly perform any task with him made him suspicious.

"Granger, you must be out of your bushy little head. There's no way I'm spending more time with you than I have to, especially on a Friday night," he said with a laugh.

Choosing not to respond to the disparaging comment about her hair (which really wasn't true... anymore at least… well not as much!), she sighed and said "That's exactly what we need to work against. Patrolling together will serve the dual purpose of showing the other prefects that despite being Head Boy and Girl, we won't be expecting preferential treatment," Draco scoffed. "And promoting interhouse unity," she'd barreled on in that annoyingly superior tone she had. This was something that Dumbledore had been going on about for quite some time now. He had reiterated it the day before during his meeting with the two head students. It seemed he'd made an impression on her to say the least.

Draco knew she had a point. As the Heads, it was their job to promote cohesion and order within the masses, but to his thinking, there was a reason _he_ was Head Boy and not someone else. The position should have meant that it afforded him certain accommodations such not having to spend his Friday night wandering the halls and threatening to call the Bloody Baron on Peeves if he didn't stop overturning the suits of armor!

"Granger, I know you don't have a life and probably spend Friday nights like every other, buried in a book, but that doesn't mean the rest of us are in the same boat. So you're jus going to have to reschedule because I'm not doing it." Then he'd tossed her one of his patented and copyrighted trademark Malfoy smirks and walked away thinking that would be the end of it. But no, the Gryffindor, who was just too damn stubborn for her own good, had followed him into the stacks.

"Listen to me Malfoy! I will _not_ change the schedule and we _will_ patrol together on Friday. We agreed to share scheduling duties which mean that you must respect my choice. You can have input when it's your turn to draw up next week's schedule and that's final!" _Such fire._ They'd had some fantastic rows together in their time, especially in sixth year. Following the telltale signs of an impending eruption, her two bodyguards always backed up a few steps and crowds gathered for the show. After that unfortunate incident in third year when she'd sucker punched him (the only way she'd ever get one in), it seemed their fights had gotten more and more heated. Oh they never got physical like he would with the other two thirds of the golden trio, but Potty and Weasel could never keep up with the battle of words that always ensued between them. No one could.

Another smirk crossed his face. "Yes I do get to draw up next week's schedule don't I?" An apprehensive look crossed her face.

"Yes," she'd said uncertainly.

"And you don't get to have any input?"

"Your point would be what?" Her eyes were narrowing now.

"Very well. We'll patrol on Friday." With that he concentrated on finding the potions book he was looking for leaving her no option but to wander back to her table with a slight irritated shake of her head. She'd expected him to lash out at her. Silly Gryffindors, always laying their cards out on the table. Something told Draco that Hermione would be spending next week's patrolling duties on Wednesday night with Pansy Parkinson. And if he wasn't mistaken, they had a potions essay due on Thursday…

However, that still did not ease the boredom of the current situation. _One more hour._ He'd walked the same corridors long enough and decided to veer off the path so to speak. Hermione had given him the west wing to patrol while she took the east, both starting on the first floor and making their way up. If something were to happen, they'd hopefully always be on the same floor to hear a call or see the red sparks that signaled danger. He hadn't seen hide or tail of her at all tonight though he would have thought she'd check up on him to make sure he was doing his job. _Strange._

He was up on the second floor and had just passed the stone gargoyles that led to the headmaster's office when he heard a peculiar sound. His wand was in his hand within milliseconds pointed in the direction from which he thought the sound had come. It had sounded like the ethereal high-pitched squeal of a girl muffled through a wall. It was coming from the direction of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Silently, he edged towards the door, wand firmly in hand. He could hear another voice too, this one not quite so piercing but female nonetheless. He slowly eased the door open a crack and silently thanked Filch (surely the first time in his life) for obsessively oiling every door hinge, even if it wasn't still in use. He barely stifled a gasp at the sight that greeted him.

The first thing he noticed was Granger. There was sweat on her brow, she had taken off her outer robe, and her hair had turned into a puff ball in the humid air. She was stirring the contents of a cauldron that was emitting smoke, purple light, and the occasional spark. Draco almost gagged on the sickly sweet cloying smell coming from it. _What the hell was she doing?_ Then a ghost came through the wall of one of the stalls. It was Moaning Myrtle. She perched on the sink not at all surprised to see Hermione's makeshift potions lab in her domain.

"Did you see anyone out there," Hermione asked.

"Nope, there's no one."

"You really need to be quieter Myrtle. I could get into some serious trouble if anyone catches me."

"Well you can't drop such a bomb on me and expect me to keep quiet. Who are you patrolling with tonight anyways?"

"Oh just Draco Malfoy," she said. Draco took great umbrage at that. He'd never heard his name uttered with such carelessness. Hate, annoyance, flirtation yes, but never carelessness.

"He's probably in the Slytherin common room by now, but I needed to patrol with someone tonight who I wouldn't have to worry about looking for me."

Dressing up her ulterior motive in interhouse unity to throw him off? How very Slytherin of her. Draco would never have suspected there was more to their pairing if he hadn't stumbled upon her tonight. He was quite surprised at himself actually for not skiving off like she had thought, but he was taking his head duties seriously. He decided that he would stay and see what she was up to. If he had to make a rough estimate, Draco would have guessed she was breaking at least six school rules. Plenty to hold over her head.  
"Besides, it's not a bomb. Everyone in the school has been expecting it."

"No, everyone in the school thinks you and Ron will get together, not that you will sneak around school brewing love potions in the girls' toilet to get you two together."

_A love potion, eh? Why Granger, I never knew you had it in you…_

"It's not a love potion. It's just a little something that will bring any love he has for me to the surface. So I'm not creating love where there was none, just encouraging what was there all along," she rationalized. "Once he realizes his feelings, I'll be able to do the rest on my own. He's just so thickheaded he can't even see what's in front of him."

"Then why do you need a potion? Can't you just... I don't know, seduce him or something?"

A pink tinge crept up Hermione's neck. "I've tried!"

"What happened?"

She mumbled something that escaped Draco's ears.

"Evidently it escaped Myrtle's as well. "What did you say?"

Hermione sighed. "He, um, laughed and I threw a chess board at his head."

At breakfast, Draco had been wondering what that unsightly bump had been. He just thought Weasel's little sister had beaten him up again.

A dreamy expression crossed Myrtle's face. "I remember when I tried to seduce Andrew Dinker. I followed him everywhere and read him poetry and sang him songs that I made up." Then she began warbling:

'_Andy, you're so sweet like candy. _

_We belong together and can be forever. _

_Why don't you die so we can float off into the sky…?'_

"Oh… how… sweet, Myrtle. What happened?"

A sick smile tilted Myrtle's lips up. "Oh he died of hypothermia from all the cold spots I made when I followed him around, but he didn't turn into a ghost. Oh well."

Silence. Neither Hermione nor Draco behind the door knew how to respond to that.

Then Myrtle let out a guffaw. "Hahahaha! Just kidding! He transferred to Durmstrang. I hear he writes pop songs for the Weird Sisters these days with the odd line from one of my poems stuck in."

"Oh." Myrtle was an odd one, Hermione was sure.

"What exactly did you do," Myrtle asked.

"What?"

"What did you do to seduce Ron?"

The pink tinge became a tomato color. She stalled by adding a few ingredients to the potion. "One night Harry was serving detention with Snape and Ron and I were alone in the common room. I don't know what came over me, but I remembered some of the hints from of the girls' magazines I'd read over the summer when I was making my plan. I went to the bathroom, rolled up my skirt, undid the top three buttons of my shirt and threw some water on my hair. He didn't notice when I came out, just kept doing his stupid divination homework. He didn't even realize that he'd predicted his death by stampeding thestrals twice. So then I sat next to him really close and he asked me to move over so he could write properly! He just kept talking about Quidditch and his brother's newest joke shop gag. I got so fed up that I snatched the quill from his hand and, and, and then I kissed him! And do you know what he did next!" Hermione pacing back and forth was on a roll now, determined to recount every moment even if she combusted from embarrassment. "He laughed! In my _mouth_. It was a weird high pitched nervous sound that I've never heard from him. I opened my eyes and he was staring right at me. He asked me what I was doing and I said 'Seducing you' and then he gulped really loudly, pulled away, and told me he had to go to bed. He got all of his stuff together really quickly then sprinted up the stair, but he paused at the top. He asked me if the house elves had accidentally shrunk my clothes again and that's when I threw the board at him..." She petered off sheepishly and hid her face in her hair. Myrtle clamped her fingers over her mouth to prevent another high-pitched giggle from escaping.

Draco couldn't help it, he snorted. He tried to stifle it, but it still escaped him. Luckily, Granger had been too busy ranting to hear him. This was just too funny. To think of Granger as a sexual being was just too close to pigs flying, hell freezing over, and Armageddon all rolled into one. She wasn't bad looking or anything, Draco just thought of her as sexless. Grangers read books, answered questions, and wrote essays. They did not like boys, try to seduce them, or make potions to ensnare them. (But Weasley was still an idiot for passing up the opportunity she had been giving him.)

Never in a million years would he think Granger could ever do something like what she had just described. It seemed they were both underestimating each other these days, still using old observations and assumptions to judge each other. This proved she wasn't infallible like she always pretended to be and that all was not well within the ranks of the golden trio.

"He still hasn't said more than the odd word to me since then. I just don't understand! He hasn't been that awkward since fifth year. Last year alone he went out with Lavender, Parvati, Romilda, Padma, Lisa, Mandy, Hannah, and Susan. Those were just the official relationships and I'm sure there were a lot more that I don't know about. There's no reason for him to not ask me out. This is our last year and it's time one of us at least took some initiative," she said squaring her shoulders and taking up her stirrer again.

"I didn't want it to have to come to this, but the potion was my backup plan if all else failed. And it has. Not even the special perfume Madam Puddifoot gave me worked. Ron started sneezing uncontrollably and Neville Longbottom tried to paw me in the halls. I had to run back to the dorms during my free period for a quick shower. Then there were the chocolates in the common room that I got from Diagon Alley. He refused to eat them because they were coconut! Harry and Ginny got into them when I was tutoring a third year and, well, they had to excuse themselves pretty quickly. I found this potion recipe in _101 Legal Ways To Make Him Love You_ in Flourish and Blotts. I mean, it's not illegal because it's not _forcing_ Ron to love me."

Hermione picked up something from the makeshift worktable she'd set up on the sink counter that looked suspiciously like red hair. When she dropped them in, the potion hissed and bubbled, then turned green.

"The first night back, Parvati and Lavender were in the common room talking about the boys they'd met over the summer and when I came and sat down next to them, they started talking about Transfiguration! Like I wouldn't be able to understand or want to hear about their summer exploits. I spend enough time in classes and studying. I know this doesn't sound like me, but I just want this year to be different. After what happened at the ministry in fifth year and the end of last year, I know how quickly things can go bad. We're growing up and with the war going on outside, this may be our last chance to be impulsive, to be selfish… to just act our age. I know I deserve that as much as everyone else." Hermione got that determined look in her eyes that she usually reserved for when defending the rights of "helpless" creatures and stirred her potion with renewed vigor.

"Well why does it have to be Ron? You could get plenty of other guys," Myrtle volunteered helpfully.

Hermione laughed derisively. "Nobody thinks of me like that. _I_ didn't even think of myself like that until this summer. Sure boys have had crushes on me, but not for the right reasons. Ravenclaws just admire my mind and Hufflepuffs are too intimidated to ever make a move. Of course I want a guy who respects my intellect, but I also want one who appreciates my other assets too. It's like the boys think I'll get angry with them if they show any interest in anything but my brain. I'm a girl and just once, I'd like to be treated like one." Restless, Hermione paced the narrow bathroom floor from one stall door the sink which hid the portal that led deep into the bowels of the castle. "Ron and I love each other and are meant to be together. All I'm doing is speeding things up."

"What about that hairy fellow with the bad English?"

"I assume you mean Viktor. He's a full time seeker now for the Bulgarian Quidditch team. They're constantly touring and during the off season, he's at home in Bulgaria. He's made it clear that he really likes me, but I don't want a long distance relationship right now. And truth be told, he's a bit too much of the strong silent type for me. During his stay in fourth year, our relationship had been more, er, physical than anything else." At Myrtle's raised eyebrow, Hermione flushed and said, "Oh get your mind out of the gutter! It was just a few heated snogs here and there whenever we could get away." Hermione stopped pacing in front of the cauldron staring into its depths. "But this is seventh year now and I think I want more than a handful of kisses."

Draco was stunned. Who would have thought that Granger had these types of feelings? Her pitiful romantic life had never seemed to bother her all that much before. Any potential suitors who weren't scared away by her two guardians had been intimidated away by her grades and confidence. She confused the boys because most girls deferred to them and she saw no reason to. She was smart, she knew it, and would never consider hiding it. That she was showing herself as anything but the confident, know-it-all snob that she usually was boggled Draco's mind.

Technically she was female, yes, but she had never acted the part. She didn't giggle and gossip like some of the other girls in her year. She didn't even have girlfriends other than the she-weasel and maybe that weird girl with the strange jewelry who was always talking about those crumple-thingies. Her skirts had always been knee-length and her shirts starched and buttoned to the neck. Looking at her now, Draco could see that this was no longer true. She was still modestly dressed, but she didn't look like Professor McGonagall had selected her clothing. Her skirt was cut above the knee and clung to her hips, showing off shapely legs. Her shirt was more fitted and accentuated her waist. The top few buttons were undone and the hot room and titillating conversation had given her cheeks a healthy flush. Her hair had also changed, it no longer seemed to swallow her face, but rather framed it quite nicely. It would never be tame, but it had a unique beauty and life about it that she had grown into. Hermione had grown up and out, but no one had noticed. No one until now that was.

Draco was already thinking of ways to use his newfound knowledge to his advantage now that the chinks in her armor were bared.

"I'm sorry for ranting, I just needed to get that off my chest to someone. I can't tell Ginny because she's always had boyfriends and it would be a bit embarrassing. It would also probably weird her out if I enlisted her help in landing her brother," she said with a wry smile.

'It's getting late and I need to get to bed. I'll be popping in now and then throughout the day tomorrow to check on the potion. We'll talk again tomorrow night?"

"You make it a question like I have anywhere to go."

"Oh, er, sorry Myrtle. You won't ell anyone will you?"

"Who would I tell? No one likes me anyways. This is the most fun I've had since before Ernie Macmillan told everyone I like to watch people in the prefects' bathroom."

Draco _knew_ it hadn't been paranoia all those times!

"Well you must admit it is quite a shock to dive under and see you sitting on the bottom."

Myrtle giggled, "Ernie was just mad that I'd caught him with Hannah Abbott".

"He said he was teaching her how to swim."

A wicked grin tilted Myrtle's lips. "Yes, I believe they were practicing the breast stroke". Hermione shuddered at the thought and Draco wished he could obliviate the image that conjured from his memory.

Hermione went about cleaning up. She created a waterproof fire in one of the toilets and levitated the cauldron over it. She covered it, then with another sweep of her wand, the room was cleaned leaving no signs of what she had been doing. "Goodnight, Myrtle." Hermione began walking towards the door and Draco decided it was time to get out of there. He quickly backpedaled and barely made it around the corner before Hermione opened to door. Turning, he headed off for his own room. He'd planned on visiting the Slytherin common room tonight, but he decided against it. He had too much to think about.

Just outside the girls' bathroom, Hermione paused to make sure no one was coming. Her eyes could pick out nothing moving and her ears heard no sound beyond the soft snore of the portraits and occasional creak of a shifting suit of armor. Just then, a furrow creased he brow as she caught a hint of a peculiar scent that did not seem to belong in the deserted stone hall. It was fresh and clean with a hint of spice and something else, something that eluded her. It was comforting and familiar in the way that _Hogwarts A History_ was yet Hermione was sure she had never encountered it before. She wanted to wrap it around her, burrow deep into its folds, and get lost in its layers, but then a quiet meow and eyes that glowed in the dark jerked her from her reverie and sent her on her way, all thoughts of the aroma banished from her mind.

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Hermione hurried to her private room making sure to stay within the shadows and watching out for Mrs. Norris' counterpart, who was never too far away. She wasn't going to Gryffindor tower because she was still feeling a bit awkward about the other night in the common room with Ron and wanted to avoid as much tension as possible until the potion was ready. She made it safely and whispered the password, _forked tongues_ (it was Draco's turn to choose), to the portraits of Milo, the Greek artist and Nika, his inspiring muse who guarded the entrance to the apartment. The two had a dramatic on again off again whirlwind of a romance. They reminded Hermione of a cross between hippies of the 60's era and the main characters in one of her mother's torrid romance novels.

Currently they appeared to be on again. So much so that they didn't seem to hear Hermione's approach and the password she'd whispered. They were in a heated embrace with Nika pressed tightly to Milo and his arms encircling her waist. One of his hands was tangled in her long curly red hair and the other was on the small of her back inching lower and lower…

"Milo!" Hermione decided to interrupt before they went much farther. Milo's hand stopped moving and he looked up with glazed slightly confused eyes. However, his face broke into a smile when he saw who had interrupted him, but he made no move to take his had off of Nika's bum. _Bloody exhibitionists_. Hermione had caught them in much worse positions and considered herself lucky this time. Nika twisted in Milo's arms so that she could get a better look at Hermione and smiled as she took in her appearance.

"What have _you_ been up to, Hermione," she asked with a coy knowing smile.

Hermione blushed when she realized what Nika was implying. "Hahaha, not that, I assure you." She supposed spending so long in that stuffy bathroom breathing in the potion fumes could give her the disheveled just shagged look. _If only._ Maybe her answer would be different when the potion was ready…

She gave the two lovers the password and went quickly inside. She was still awed by the beauty of the apartment. The front door led into the high-ceilinged common room that she shared with Draco. The stone walls were polished and glittered with bits of mineral and crystal that reflected light from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Hermione loved to walk barefoot on the lush rug that seemed to swallow her toes. A stuffed couch and fat armchairs sat in the middle of the room across from of a great fireplace on the right-hand wall. To the side, there was a mahogany desk for studying. Adjoining the room was a small kitchen made for lazy weekend breakfasts and fixing snacks. A staircase led up to the living quarters with Draco's room to the left and Hermione's to the right. On the other side of Hermione's door was a small area that looked down over the common room and ended in French doors leading to a balcony that looked out onto the lake.

Hermione tip-toed across the room and up the stairs, pausing to notice the light coming from under Draco's door. She eased her own open, slipped in, then flopped onto the bed.

"Rough day?"

Hermione turned her head in the direction of the voice and sighed. "Very." She was talking to the portrait of Esmerelda Vanlow, Hogwart's first ever Head Girl. She had been placed in the room to give Hermione Head Girl advice whenever needed. She was also a Gryffindor. "Snape is back to being his horrible self in potions, a plant puked on me in Herbology and I had to oversee a third year study period. To top it all off, Ron still won't look at me."

Esmerelda tried to hide her smile behind her hand. She was succeeding for the most part, which was more than she could have said when Hermione first told her about her failed seduction attempts. "I'm sure he'll get over it in time."

"I suppose," Hermione said noncommittally and went back to staring up at the burgundy ceiling of her canopy bed. Her room was done all in creams and dark reds with gold overtones. The framing of her bed was made of a dark rich wood. Her comforter was burgundy and cream with gold trim and the rug on her floor was beautifully patterned. Lions and griffins and other mythological creatures ran around it, sometimes playfully trying to bat at Hermione's feet whenever she walked across it.

Hermione hadn't told Esmerelda about the newest installment of her plan to win Ron. She didn't know how exactly the portraits system worked and didn't want to risk Esmerelda blowing her plan by going off and telling someone. Although Hermione didn't think she would tell, it was only the end of the first week and they were still getting to know each other. She didn't want to take any chances. Maybe she was just thinking about what she might have done had their places been switched (a year ago, she'd never have cooked up such a scheme). Besides, she'd had enough of people laughing at her and wanted to salvage what little bit of pride she still had left.

Hermione got up and shuffled over to her wardrobe to pick out something to sleep in. "I better go to bed. It's getting late." Then she went into the bathroom to wash up. She loved her bathroom, it was clean, pale blue and tiled. There was a shower with a tub sitting next to it. The tub was by no means as big as the one in the prefects' bathroom, but it was very comfortable with intricately wrought gold handles and knobs. She planned on taking a nice long soak with scented candles all around her one of these days when she found the time…

There were also his and her sinks which was great because Hermione didn't think she could stand Malfoy's products taking up all of the space around it (she did mention that she shared the bathroom with him, didn't she?). Hermione locked the door on Malfoy's end then stepped up to her own sink and stared at herself in the mirror. She did that thing that all girls do where she scrutinized her face, pulled her hair back, and scrutinized some more turning her head this way and that. She didn't think she was by any means a stunner, but she couldn't see anything horribly wrong either. She sighed, let her hair fall to her shoulders again and made a face. "You shouldn't do that dear. It might get stuck that way." Hermione gave a start at the disembodied voice. She'd never get used to talking mirrors. Maybe it was one of those things that you had to grow up around and as a muggleborn who'd spent most of her life with inanimate mirrors, it would always take her by surprise. "Thanks," she muttered and set about her nightly routine.

Returning to her room wearing one of her dad's old university shirts and a pair of short shorts, she slid under her cover and extinguished the lights.

"Goodnight, Esmerelda."

"Goodnight Hermione."

She lay there thinking about Ron, the potion, and Myrtle until she could no longer keep her eyes open. It really had been a long day.

Draco on the other hand was having a much harder time falling asleep. He got up and started pacing the small stretch of floor between his bed and desk, every so often running careless fingers through silver-blonde hair that did not quite reach his shoulders yet. He'd heard Granger come in some time ago and she had only caused his thoughts to churn about in his head more furiously. Something was horribly wrong with the universe. In mere minutes, she had turned him upside down without even knowing it. His perception of her turned out to be all wrong, everyone's perception of her was. Draco wondered what else he had been wrong about. There were certainties in life that did not change, and the know-it-all-bookworm was one of them. He couldn't have her running about breaking the rules and having _feelings_, he just couldn't. He didn't realize how much he depended on it, but recently he had gained a greater appreciation of the static things in life. His life had gone through some radical changes that year and he'd worked tirelessly to bring it back under his control. It was disconcerting to see it changed so suddenly again despite his efforts.

After Draco's father had been captured in the Ministry and put into jail, things went downhill. It had been a terrible blow to the Malfoy name, not because Lucius had been doing something illegal, but because he had been caught doing it. If there was one thing his father had always taught Draco, it was to _never_ get caught. There was no amount of money that would persuade the Ministry of Magic to look the other way this time. Aurors and other lackeys were constantly watching the manor and stopping in for surprise searches like a neighbor would for tea or a cup of sugar. Whispers now followed Draco and his mother whenever he escorted her in public (because she refused to hide). He was unused to that kind of treatment because people had always deferred to him. Maybe that was why he always reacted badly to the golden trio; they never gave him the respect he was used to (and made him question if he even deserved it in the first place). It was overwhelming to be suddenly disdained, hated and worse yet pitied so openly by the very people who would have considered themselves blessed to be allowed to wash his feet. It was a shock, but Narcissa taught him to ignore the busybodies and to hold his head high. He was stronger now than before his father's downfall and had learned who he could truly depend on.

Children often follow their parents' lead and when Draco arrived at Hogwarts for his sixth year, he found himself to be in much different standing than when he had left it. Gone were the looks of reverence and pining from his housemates to be replaced with contempt and more pity. He was suddenly infamous instead of famous. However, they all failed to understand one thing: the Prince of Slytherin gave his throne to no one. His father's arrest had been a blow, but it didn't signify the end of his reign. Draco'd had to fight all of the upstarts who had thought the way had been cleared for them to seize his crown. They didn't fight like lions roaring on the open savanna, but like snakes that struck in opportune moments when you weren't looking. Guerrilla warfare in halls of Hogwarts. However, Draco had emerged the victor and now no one could claim he had not earned his right to rule. His people respected him and looked to him for support.

Perhaps worst of all was the fact that the Malfoys were no longer favored by Voldemort. His favor had always afforded them protection and respect from all of the other dark families, not just the ones that were Death Eaters. Even when Voldemort had been gone, the dark wizards still maintained the ranks he had established and Lucius remained at the top. Draco never knew what his father had done to get there, but he assumed it was because Malfoys were always leaders and Lucius had set the bar high for him. But now, he feared he would have to take the dark mark when he left Hogwarts in order to atone for his father's sins. He did not want to serve the madman that the Dark Lord had become.

However, Draco was a Malfoy and could deal with everything that the world had thrown at him up to that point. He was like a cat that always landed on its feet. He was young and cunning and would figure something out he always told himself and he was usually right. Sixth year had been hard, but he'd had the support of his mother and a few close friends to see him through.

He'd been almost to the end and could see the summer hols in the distance if he squinted a bit. But life is never quite that easy.

It had been a warm June evening when Draco's life spun out of control; it had been his birthday, June 5th, actually. He'd been walking through the corridors on his way to dinner and enjoying the brief respite he'd gotten from his slightly overly-exuberant friends who were intent on making his seventeenth birthday the best one ever. There was a genuine swagger to his step that had been somewhat less authentic during the difficult year. And why not? He was a man now come of age, had survived the school year, and things were finally looking up.

Then suddenly, he found himself looking up, quite literally at the stone ceiling of the hall. _What the…!_ He couldn't for the life of him figure out what had happened, but the world had tilted on it's axis. Or perhaps it was just him. Either way, he found himself flat on his back. He didn't move for several seconds, then when nothing else happened, he got up, smoothed his robes down, and thanked Merlin no one had been there to see the Prince of Slytherin lose his cool. He resumed walking, but he hadn't taken five steps before it happened again and kept happening.

This time he fell to his hands and knees. The world was spinning and he couldn't tell which way was up. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. His arms gave way to his weight and he sprawled once more on the ground. Something invisible was pushing down on his chest grinding his shoulder blades into the chilly flagstone beneath him. It got heavier and grew claws, no longer trying to squash him, but worse, it was trying to get inside of him. He could feel his rib cage straining with the pressure and imagined the beast was a dog digging a hole for its bone inside of his chest. Draco had never heard of such a beast, nor could he fathom how one would have gotten into the castle. He was losing touch with reality. A bright shimmering golden light filled his vision and the sounds of his pounding heart and strangled gasping breathe were drowned out by a shrill hypersonic ringing in his ears. He could taste the bitter coppery flavor of blood at the back of his throat.

He felt the barriers of his flesh give way and the beast surged into him. He threw back his head and screamed the intensity of his feelings. It's power was phenomenal and crackled like lightning under his skin. Draco had never felt anything like it before in his life. Not quite pain, but too extreme to be called pleasure. It spread until it touched the tips of his toes and fingers, the ends of each strand of hair and stuck to his ribs. It grew until it filled all of him until he felt it nudge the ball of power within him that was the source of his magic. The nudging became a push and then a pounding. Draco fought it with all of his might because he knew instinctively that if he let it in, nothing would ever be the same again.

Suddenly he felt strong arms grabbing him. He had no power of his own to fight back and let himself be lifted. All of his concentration went to fighting the beast that had broken into his body. Draco did not know how long this went on for, but he felt himself being laid down onto a soft surface and then a cool cloth was laid against his head. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out; the beast was tireless and Draco was only human. Then something made it past the ringing in his ears. It was a voice and Draco got the feeling it had been speaking to him for a long time. It kept saying the same thing over and over. _"Let go. Just let go, Draco. Let it in. Everything will be alright, Draco, just let go." _The voice was soothing and comforting; it was familiar in some way though Draco could not tell whose it was. He was reaching his breaking point and wanted in that moment nothing more than to give in and do as the voice said.

He felt his shields crack and then shatter.

Draco braced himself for the pain he thought would come, but never did. Instead he felt a warmth and light as the beast caressed his magic. The two wrestled together, rolled around entwining themselves with each other. Before, Draco knew what was happening, he could no longer tell what was his magic and what was the beast's, they were both his now. He didn't know how he knew this, but the thing that had accosted him in the halls wasn't out to hurt him and it wasn't going to leave him anytime soon if ever. He was awed by the feelings surging through him. The beast's power was his own now and for one brief moment he felt invincible and at peace. Then the golden light began to fade as if it were being absorbed by his skin, but the warmth remained. His skin tingled and his senses were coming back to him. Finally, the ringing in his ears was gone and he could see again.

Draco straightened his body from the ball he'd curled into and sat up. He tore his robes open then lifted up the button-down shirt he had on underneath. His chest was a little red in the place the beast had entered his body. The past few moments had definitely happened, he wasn't going crazy.

Looking around him for the first time, Draco discovered that he was on a pile of cushions on the floor of an abandoned classroom and that he was alone. If it hadn't been for the fact that this had all started in the corridor, he would have sworn the voice had been a fabrication of his mind. However, there was no explaining how he'd gotten into the classroom. He certainly wouldn't have been able to get there on his own in the state that he had been in. It worried Draco that there was someone in the castle who knew what had happened to him and what would happen before it did. They seemed to know a lot more than he did in fact.

Draco took a moment to collect himself, vanished the cushions, then continued on to dinner. He really hadn't felt like eating anymore, but he still had to keep up appearances.

Keeping up appearance became almost impossible when he discovered that the incident in the hall was just the beginning…

Draco shook himself out of his reverie. It was late and he had much to do tomorrow. Sexually frustrated Gryffindors and disturbing memories would have to wait until after he got some sleep. He slid into bed and extinguished his light with a wave of the hand. _Yes, things have certainly changed_, he thought to himself.

In the moments before sleep claimed him, Draco lay in the stillness of his room and dark of the night and gave in to his unruly thoughts that kept straying back to the Head Girl. Maybe the real reason why he had been so disconcerted by tonight's revelations was because it felt like someone had been holding up a mirror not to his face, but to his soul. It was discomforting to see himself so clearly in another being while her guard was down. He'd almost felt compassion back there standing outside the girls' lavatory instead of the victory he should have felt at gaining the upper hand, something to hold over her head. He had enough information to make this year very entertaining. But something held him back; it was as if betraying her would feel like betraying himself. They were at similar crossroads in their lives. Granger had grown up, but no one could see past the image of the past six years. She was stuck in a mold that was no longer the right size or shape and she could either conform to it or shatter it. It looked like she'd chosen the latter. Draco had laughed at her behind the bathroom door, but now he couldn't escape the niggling feeling in his stomach that felt like respect. She was shattering the mold and it was costing her, but she wouldn't stop, wouldn't give up. Her Gryffindor courage wouldn't let her. Now all that remained was for him to make his own choice.

A lot of things had happened to Draco since his father's arrest and since the incident on his birthday. Yet, he'd given no outward signs of the effects they'd had on him, despite having been forced to the head of his family and being given incredible power and responsibility.

Draco was still and would always be the Prince of Slytherin, still haughty, cunning, and just a little bit spoiled, but he was growing tired of playing the same petty games that he had in his early years. He was in need of a change and its arrival was inevitable.

One thing was for sure, though. Draco wasn't going to let Granger make him look like a coward for not trying his hardest. They were the top two students at Hogwarts, but he had better hair.

He'd annihilate his mold. Just watch.


End file.
